Widow Town (3 page)

Gray urged the cruiser down the road splitt
ing two fields of golden wheat.

The sun glowed within the tipping crops, illuminating them beyond anything natural. Ruthers shifted in his seat, the squeak of his duty b
elt loud in the quiet confines.

“Hotter
’n shit,” Ruthers finally said.

“That it is.”

“Think it’ll rain?”

“Yep, late tonight. Might stave off the fire
that’s been waiting to start.”

“Think so?”

“Nope.”

A bit of static came across the
radio and then fell silent again. The wheat rolled like a tide under the breeze.

“Sir, what
—”

“Have you eve
r had real vegetables, Joseph?”

“Sir?”

“I mean not from the store, but from a garden?”

“Sure,
my mom used to grow her own beets and potatoes.”

“But you got thos
e seeds from the store, right?”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

Gray nodded. “You’re off at five tonight and Thueson’s on alone until nine, right?”

“Yes sir.”

“Then you’ll have dinner with me tonight, Joseph, if it’s okay with you.”

Ruthers just stared at the side of Gray’s face for a
while, not moving, then found his voice. “Okay, sir. I thought all of us would be on tonight, working on the case.”

“Thueson and
Monty will be able to handle things and I know what you’re thinking, but if I’m wrong, the people that did that to the Jacobses are long gone, miles outside of our county right now.”

“And if you’re right?”

“If I’m right, well, I don’t really want to think about that.”

“
Okay. Should I bring anything?”

“Just yourself, and those questions you’ve been trying to ask me all da
y.” Gray gave him a half smile.

The radio barked to life, their dispatcher and office manager, Mary
Jo’s voice filling up the car.

“Sheriff?”

“Go ahead, Mary Jo.” The display of the radio recognizing his voice pattern before sending back his response.

“There’s a bit of an issue down at Harrington’s.”

“What kind of issue?”

“It seems that David Baron
is having some sort of fit down there and won’t leave.”

“What kind of fit, Mary Jo?”

“I’m not sure but Clark called it in, says the kid won’t leave.”

“Thank you, Mary Jo.”

The radio clicked once and then went quiet. Gray pressed the pedal down harder and the cruiser picked up speed, automatically sinking lower to the blacktop. Ruthers touched a black screen mounted in the console and when it lit up, he tapped a single icon that set the cruiser’s lights in motion as well as the siren. Its wail muted but still audible in the interior, Gray knew anyone within a half mile was getting an earful.

“You always have to ask yourself, Joseph, what’s next?”

~

The hardware store stood beside the café they’d left only hours before.
Its walls were a bleached brown that looked like dried skin too long in the sun. A few cars were parked along the street before the storefront, their glass reflecting the beating sun in flashing arcs that hurt the eyes. Several people strolled on the sidewalk, some holding hands, some not. Signs proclaiming the coming city festival hung from doors and windows, the garish announcement promising fun for the entire family.

Gray took it all in as he coasted the cruiser into a parking spot, dousing the lights and si
ren with a touch of his finger.

“
You think he’s dangerous, Sir?”

“Dav
ey Baron? Anyone can be dangerous, Joseph, but I don’t think we have to worry about him.”

They climbed from the vehicle and moved through the heat, a solid curtain that beaded sweat before they ent
ered the air-conditioned store.

The building was large with cardboard displays
of farming implements too big to house within the space, but could be ordered at the front desk. Racks of work clothes stood in aisles beside lawn mowers and chainsaws. Hunting and fishing equipment hung in locked racks before glass cases containing assortments of knives. A line of cashiers sat off to the left, the men and women manning the tills turned toward the rear of the store where Clark Redy stood, his rounded shoulders draped in the customary blue of a Harrington’s uniform shirt. Gray could see from a distance that Redy’s normally crimson neck was nearly purple. Not a good sign. Redy was gesticulating and saying something, his words lost in the echo from the high ceiling.

Gray crossed the store, nearing the storeowner just as he finished a tirade and glanced over one ham-hock shoulder
.

“It’s about time,” Redy said, rounding on Gray as he approached. Gray stood a bit over six feet and weighed a solid two hundred twenty pounds, but Redy loomed over him, a hill of angry flesh and bone. Redy’s face was the same color as his neck, eyes beginning to bulge with sweaty hair matt
ed to his broad forehead.

“What’s the problem, Clark?” Gray said.

“The problem is that little lunatic broke one of my displays and now he’s got ahold of a clipper blade and won’t let anyone near him. He won’t leave!” Redy said the last sentence as if he didn’t truly believe it himself.

“Let’s take it easy,
Clark, and we’ll sort it out.”

“Sort it out? Tase the little bastard and get his skinny ass out of
my store. I’m losing business.”

“Clark?” Gray put a hand on the other man’s massive bicep. “We’ll handle it.” Without waiting for a reply, Gray walked around the proprietor and stepped into the aisle the la
rge man had been shouting down.

David Baron sat on the edge of a shelf, his narrow torso hunched over his knees.
He had a shock of red hair that Gray had never seen in any semblance of order. His pale face hung toward the floor, freckles dotting his long nose. An image of his father.

David turned his head toward Gray as he came down the aisle and shifted, revealing the sixteen inches of sharpened steel in his left hand. The clipper blade shone under the bright lights of the store, its edge meant for high RPMs and reed grass, now looked only a little menacing in the hand of the boy. Tear tracks ran in salty streams down both his cheeks and he made no mov
ement to wipe them away.

“Stop.” The boy’s voice croaked. He’d been yelling.

Gray paused and turned to sit on a shelf across the aisle that’s contents now covered the floor. “How you doing, Davy?”

The boy sniffed
, his eyes turning toward the head of the row they sat in, faces peering back at them. “Go away.”

“I just came here to chat, Davy, I’m not going to hurt you or make
you leave before you mean to.”

The hand holding the clipper blade lowered
a little. “I don’t wanna talk.”

“That’s fine,” Gray said, crossing one leg over the other, getting comfortable. “Anyone can tell you I talk more than enough for two people.” Gray smiled. “You’re on the baseba
ll team this year, aren’t you?”

David glanced up the aisle ag
ain, then back to Gray, nodded.

“I thought I saw you out playing last week.
You’re shortstop, aren’t you?”

David opened his mouth and then shut it. Finally sa
id, “And first base sometimes.”

“Really? That’s interesting. You’re playing two positions that
complement one another. More hits go to shortstop than any other position, you know that?”

“Yeah.”

“Coach must think well of your abilities to put you there.”

“Maybe.”

Gray imagined his next words as placing a foot on a tightrope, except they were already out there, weren’t they? “Your dad used to play shortstop, you know?”

David’s jaw tightened and the muscles in his left arm flexed. Gray shifted his eyes to the far end of the aisle over David’s shoulder where Ruthers waited, his Deacon drawn, the red light blinking. Gray gave the slightest twitch of his head.

The boy’s eyes wavered between rage and something else. Sorrow. As Gray waited he saw the emotion tip from one and fall straight through to the other. David’s shoulders sank and a held breath came out of him, deflating. A new line of tears coursed down his pale cheeks.

“The pinion seal went out of our weeder,” David said,
staring at the floor. “There’s so many in the crop this year, and Momma—” He swallowed, the clipper blade settling onto the shelf beside him. “She’s in bed most of the day, and I can’t get her up sometimes even to eat dinner.” David turned his bloodshot, leaking eyes on Gray. “I try, you know, but it’s like she can’t hear me sometimes. Since he’s been gone it’s gotten worse, and worse. I—” David’s throat clenched with more tears and he wiped at them, looking like a much younger boy than sixteen. “I was just trying to weed and the seal went and when I came here to get a new one, they were all out. They were going to have to order one and it won’t be here for a week Mr. Redy said.”

“I see. Well, here’s what we can do, Davy, let’s take you home and on the way we’ll see if Gary’s in his garage. If he is, I’ll send him out to your house later this afternoon and maybe he can rig something together to get you by until the part com
es in. How’s that sound?”

David shook his head, his hand flexing on the steel. “We can’t afford that,
Sheriff, that’s why I came here to get the seal, it’s only forty dollars.”

“You don’t worry about that, I’ll take care of it. So what do you say?” Gray held his hand out toward the clipper blade. David stared at his palm for a moment before handing over the wicked-looking part. Gray set it down on the shelf beside him and then reached out again. David grasped his hand, al
lowing himself to be pulled up.

“Is there a chance,
Sheriff? Any at all?”

Gray only let the frown crease his forehead for a moment before trying to smile. “I’ve known your daddy for a long time, Davy, and if there’s any way he can come home, he will
. There’s always a chance, as long as you can hope.”

The boy rubbed his eyes again before
nodding. “Mr. Redy’s real mad.”

“You go on out and get in my cru
iser, let me talk to Mr. Redy.”

David walked down
the aisle, his head tilted at the floor, red hair bouncing with each step. When he reached the end, Gray saw him glance up at the towering form of the storeowner and then look away from the seething anger that coated the big man’s face. Redy opened his mouth as David made his way across the store toward the doors, but Gray put a hand on his shoulder.

“Clark, can you get that pinion sea
l here any faster than a week?”

Redy looked at him as if he’d ju
st spoken in Cantonese. “What?”

“Your order time seems slow, I thought you said you normally get shipments every
day.”

The shade of Redy’s face began to climb into the puce area again and he pointed a thick finger a few inches from Gray’s nose. “What the hell are you talking about,
Sheriff? That little vandal just tore up half my store and you’re asking me about shipping speed?”

“That’s right, Clark, and if you don’t take your finger out of my face I’ll
have to do something about it.”

Gray waited for the man to take a looping swing at him. Instead Redy lowered his arm, which seemingly caused his eyes to bulge even more. “
You can’t order me around, you’re an elected official paid by the people of this county. Who the fuck do you think you are?”

Gray stepped a few inches closer to the man, the bill of his cap almost touching Redy’s nose. Redy flinched, but only a little. Gray spoke just above a whisper. “That boy’s been carrying the burden of his father being gone for over a month now, Clark. He doesn’t know where he went and no one else does either. His world’s been thrown off its axis. His mother’s nearly bedridden with heartache and David has twenty acres to weed along with trying to take care of a household that
’s blaringly empty without his dad there. Now I’m sorry he came in and knocked over some of your products but I saw nothing broken, if there is you send me a bill. Now answer my question, can you get that pinion seal here faster than a fucking week or are we still living in the dark ages?”

Redy’s mouth moved for a
second without any words coming out. Then he spluttered in a much softer tone, “I can put a rush on it and have it here in two days.”

Gray stepped back, readjusted his hat. “Good. Remember to sen
d me a bill. Let’s go, Joseph.”

Gray walked out of the store as Ruthers foll
owed, storing away his pistol. The eyes of everyone in the building watched them until they disappeared into the flaring heat of the day.